A Talk With A Friend
by Dreams Travel
Summary: An intervention a la Hulk.


A Talk With a Friend

_Marvel owns, I do not (darn it!). Just playing in their sandbox, making no monetary profit. Fully intend to share comments, hugs and flames with anyone who wants to sue._

One moment he is in deep shit, down in the dark, down in that Afghan hellhole. Down down down, staring at Yinsen´s lightless eyes, listening for the marching feet of men come to drown him.

And he knows the voice he hears screaming is his own.

The next half awake instant is all terrifying roars and breaking glass and wind in his face and the world dropping away with a sickening lurch.

An unexpected enormous warm arm holding him tight and safe like an infant to a mother.

The world stops dropping when the Hulks stops jumping and Tony dazedly stares up into the deep, shadowy eyes. He has to give himself credit for sounding only a little shaky.

"Hi there, big buddy. Hell of a way to wake me up, that."

Eyes that for once do not glow with rage- but to Tony's astonishment, are concerned. Hulk frowns and- pouts? His voice is low and hollow.

"Tony screams."

Tony is hit by the woodsy scent of freshly cut grass. He can deduce from the sounds of the city that they are still way up high. The light of neighboring high-rises show a well maintained rooftop garden with hedges, wooden floorboards, deckchairs and a garden shack he silently prays to hold some overalls and wellies for when Bruce will return to him.

The hulk moves around a bit until behind the green painted shack he finds the spot with the most shadow to hide in, and plops down gracelessly. His broad back to the little building, he sits cross legged and folds his gigantic arms around his charge so New York's night air hardly touches the dwarfed man.

"Tony screams- wake Hulk." Hulk repeats, while Tony pulls up his legs a little and tucks his bare feet in between the green expanse of Hulk's chest and his arms like tree trunks.

"I'm sorry I gave you a scare, Jollygreens- I just had a bad dream." Tony says, gently, inwardly flinching at the understatement. He smiles up at his friend, hoping to calm him, shivering with fatigue and the cold that caught him while the Hulk was jumping and memories of squirrels called 'George'.

The Hulk voices an unconvinced grumpf and narrows his eyes at Tony.

"How dream." Hulk looks at him earnestly and somber. As if he knows all about bad dreams- and knowing Hulk and Banner both as Tony does, they most likely do.

Tony shrugs and burrows deeper into the embrace. The Hulk shakes him a little and Tony feels his stomach lurch.

"Oi!- Easy there Big Guy!"

"How dream!" Hulk insists, growling.

"Errr-" Tony hesitates. How do you tell a big green rage monster about having open heart surgery under primitive and not wholly sterile circumstances, performed on you while practically conscious? About the technicalities involved in waking up being hooked up to a god damned car battery? How do you tell said rage monster about being held under water until all you know is water and not being able to breathe and sparks flying through your chest and burning you from the inside and your lungs bursting and they won't let go let go let go-

Tony feels the arms around him tighten and he takes a deep breath and another and another and looks up at that concerned countenance, while crossing his arms over his chest and over the blue light imbedded there, hunched in on himself.

How do you say that you've watched a friend die violently once-have cried over that death. How do you speak about such to another friend whom you do not want to lose and whom you worry about that you will, one way or the other.

But the Hulk looks so concerned, so ready to listen. Most friends have heard the stories. Most friends have their own problems and nightmares. The few people he loves know very little and Tony likes it that way. Needs it even. He despises pity. If he seems weak, the sharks will come.

Hulk would eat them like tuna sandwiches. Hulk does not shy away when Tony starts screaming. Hulk is like the monster living under your bed to scare away all the other monsters. He's bigger than all the other monsters. And he deserves an answer.

"There were bad people- bad men. They captured me- put me in a cage, sort off. They wanted me to make weapons. I said no- so they hurt me to make me change my mind."

For a moment the embrace becomes uncomfortably tight and the Hulk growls like an angry lion about to attack.

"Hey- hey- no no noo- It's alright- easy easy buddy! It's fine now."

"Where bad men!" Hulk growls about to stand up and jump, probably all the way back to Afghanistan if Tony would let him.

"It's fine- it's over- I was smart and I made Iron Man right under their noses when they were not looking. And Iron Man went smash!"

And Tony hears himself say the words and holds his breath, looks up at Hulk but does not see him.

"Metal Man did smash?"

"Yeah-" Tony answers in a far away voice. He feels fire erupt around him instead of the chilly night air. He sees the young faces of the soldiers that where sacrificed for absolutely nothing in the failed attempt to murder him. He sees the even younger, darker faces of impoverished kids believing in a future carved out for them by lying terrorists- and he sees them falling away blistering and bleeding and dying.

If he had been anything like the Hulk, it would have been over and done with the violence of his escape. Hulk smash, Tony smash, no more smash and bad guy kaput and no damn dreams afterwards.

The Hulk settles himself again. "Good!" he says and cuddles Tony closer like child would a cat. Tony gives his protector a weary smile and feels a bone deep tiredness settle over him. The Hulk is very warm and he feels safe- he could sleep again like this- perhaps even without nightmares.

"Metal Man smart- Tony silly."

"Huh?" Tony answers sleepily, but still curious.

"Tony still sees them. They gone. Smash. But Tony still sees them."

"Sometimes it just works that way buddy."

The Hulk slumps a bit. He closes his eyes and sighs. There is a grief in the small eyes when he opens them and looks at Tony again.

"Wake Banner. Talk. Friend. No more screaming. Make good."

Such elegance in the simple solution. When you feel rotten, go to somebody and talk about it. Perhaps Banner would just listen. Yeah- Bruce would probably get feeling rotten about people who just get in the way, who might even be considered innocents in spite of holding the guns.

Tony is by no means a pacifist and he has no qualms admitting to himself feeling an overwhelming sense of strength and relief in taking out- murdering and –burning- the bastards who subjected him to torture.

But actually, that is –not- what the monster is advising him. 'Go talk to your friend' he says. Something bothers Tony about that. And the penny drops.

"But I –am- talking to a friend now, aren't I?" he asks while petting a thumb with the whole of his hand. The Hulks just looks at him.

"See- you've made the nightmare go away. I feel better now."

The broad face changes a bit, the eyes widen in an expression of wonder.

"Friends?"

"Of cause we are- you silly green oaf! I like you- you know that I like you, don't you? I should show you that I like you- Now how do I show you- oh- Yeah- come here you big lug!" And Tony wrestles himself out of the Hulk's grip, kneels on the large forearms and throws his arms around the big neck and gives a warm hug and smiles.

"And this is not the first time you've been looking out for me. So thank you, Jade Jaws."

It is truly amazing how many different expressions and moods the Hulk can pack in a grunt, but this time the 'grrmfrgh' sound spells 'happy' to Tony, and he allows The Hulk to manhandle him back to being tucked in the Hulks arms again like a very small child and he yawns sleepily.

Tony knows he will have to find a way to contact the others soon to let them know nothing is amiss. He also knows the Hulk won't let go of him as long as he's in charge of the body he shares with Banner. Tony's bedroom is probably totally destroyed, the door wrenched from the hinges, a nice Hulk-shaped hole where the glass bedroom wall used to be.

He feels warm and fuzzy, held comfortably in the arms of a giant that could squash him like an ant if he wanted to. Right now, there is actually very little he -can- do, but surrender to the absurdity of his situation. So he closes his eyes, burrows a little deeper into the embrace, chuckles and allows himself to drift.

Safe.


End file.
